


How Wondrous a Soul

by drunknpylades



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:01:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3509294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunknpylades/pseuds/drunknpylades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos receives news that will change his life and the lives of the Musketeers forever. How is a man that never had a father supposed to be one? Luckily, he has help. Even from the most unexpected of places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Return of Joy

**Author's Note:**

> I am dedicating this to [Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson), without whom none of this would have happened. She's been there to bounce ideas off of at all hours of the day and to pester me for new things when I get stuck in a rut. Thanks for all those brainstorming sessions babe!
> 
> Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Except Baby Girl. She is very much mine and no one is taking her away from me. Any other familiar names and places are coincidence and no kind of copyright infringement is intended. Title taken from the Poem of the Sufi Way- From His Light. It's the poem Samara reads part of in episode 3.
> 
> Should be updating once a week. Hopefully on Mondays, but we'll see how that goes.

Her name is Ayodele. It is her name and yet she does not know that she belongs to it. In this moment the name is not even hers yet. It is still caught in that nothingness where thoughts drift before they are formed, before they are given life and breath. She doesn’t know anything of the name that awaits her. Knows nothing of the adventure and intrigue that name will bring her. In this moment all she knows is the voice singing softly to her. The words she won’t understand for years yet to come, but she knows that voice deep down in her bones. It is soft and safe and home. It is her mother.

They say that a child will always know their parents. She knows her mother before she even knows what a mother is. There is a bond there, something in her blood that responds to that voice and the song that drifts on the air as if it was always meant to be there. Maybe it was. Maybe this combination of words and melody was always supposed to come together in this moment. This song was meant to be sung for her and everything was right.

-

“This isn’t right.”

“Excuse me?”

Porthos didn’t even look up. The letter was beginning to crumble under the strength of his fingers and the words danced around as his hands trembled. “This isn’t right?”

Athos made an indignant sound. “That may be, but if you have a better plan then I suggest- Porthos?”

The words fell on deaf ears and Porthos was already out of his seat. The chair crashed to the floor and the man was halfway to the tavern door before the others could even think to move.

“Porthos!”

Not even the sliver of fear in Aramis’ voice gave him pause. Porthos was a man with a solitary goal in mind and nothing was going to keep him from it.

How could this be happening? They’d been careful. He’d made sure of it. Neither one of them had been ready for something like this. He wasn’t ready, would in all honesty, probably never be ready. His heart beat in his ears like war drums, drowning out everything else. His hands shook, letter now crushed into illegibility in his hand, fingers white knuckled around the damning words. Words like _has your sense already,_ and _your perfect curls_ and -his heart stuttered in his chest- _father._

A hand hooked in the collar of his uniform and Porthos had to physically reign in the urge to swing at whoever had put a stop to his single minded dash through Paris’ streets. He settled for whirling around and glaring murderously at Athos -of course it was Athos- as the other Musketeer gave him an unimpressed look and a raised eyebrow in return.

“What the hell has gotten into you?”

“It’s my business, Athos. Don’t need you lot gettin’ caught up in it.” He gave Aramis and d’Artagnan an apologetic look, tempering his frustration for the moment. “Not this time.”

Aramis scoffed, hands on his hips. “And just how were you planning to keep us away? Tie us up? Or were you honestly hoping to somehow leave us in the dust and we’d just give up the search?” The words seemed flippant enough, but Porthos could see the lingering worry in those brown eyes and guilt started to make itself known in his gut. “You should know better.” Aramis tutted.

 Porthos looked away first, eyes moving to a point in the dirt somewhere between them all.

d’Artagnan was the first to break the tense silence they’d fallen into. “What was it that got you so worked up? You ran out of there like the devil himself was on your heels.”

Porthos’ hand tightened on the letter. The sound of crinkling paper drew Athos’ eyes to it, but the other Musketeer stayed silent.

They all had their fair share of secrets after all.

“Like I said, it’s my affair. If I need help I’ll tell you, but you gotta let me do this on my own right now.”

None of them were happy about it and d’Artagnan looked ready to argue before Aramis put a hand on his shoulder, effectively cutting the younger man off even as his mouth dropped open to speak.

“If you’re sure. At least take one of us with you. It will be safer with another pair of eyes.” He held up his other hand to cut Porthos off before he could argue. “You’d be saying the same thing if it was one of us. Your affair it may be, but you know how we worry.”

Porthos knew. He’d been on the other side of that worry many times. He’d been there when Athos struggled with his own past demons, when Milady had taken an interest in him again after so long apart. He’d been there whenever d’Artagnan snuck off to try and handle something on his own. He’d been there when Aramis had started keeping secrets, hiding things from them and thinking no one would notice. Keeping his own secret now gave him a feeling of wrongness, like bugs crawling across his skin, but he couldn’t tell them. Not yet. Not when he didn’t have all the details.

“Athos.” It came out of him like a sigh and try as he might Porthos couldn’t ignore the hurt that flashed across Aramis’ face when he hadn’t been named as Porthos’ backup. Aramis was his rock in all things, but this was something he wasn’t going to drag the other man into. Especially not with Aramis’ history with these kinds of things. He couldn’t do that to him. “You up for it?”

Athos’ reply was a simple nod as he stepped up beside Porthos.

“We’ll meet you back at the garrison for the evening meal.” And with that Porthos turned on his heel and strode off, purposefully making his strides longer in his hurry to get away from more questions and the hurt still lingering in Aramis’ eyes. He could only deal with one thing at a time.

“Anything you need to tell me about what we may be walking into?”

Athos was the usual voice of reason and Porthos forced himself to walk at a more normal pace. Athos never would have said anything about the speed of their departure, but Porthos knew the other man would have been hard pressed to keep up with his longer stride. “It’s Samara.” He said finally. “Said she’s back in Paris, that she’s got something she needs to tell me. Said it was life and death stuff.”

“I see.”

“No you don’t.”

“No, I don’t. But I’m assuming you’ll tell me if I need to know.”

Damn the man and his understanding tone. It made him feel even guiltier for keeping quiet. “You’ll know when I know for sure what’s going on. I can promise you that.” That was going to have to be enough for now.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a ringing in his ears that refused to go away.

“Her name is Ayodele.”

Her name. A name that was attached to a small, sleeping body and even smaller hands. Porthos didn’t think his world would ever right itself from the total disarray it had been thrown into. Athos was a silent presence at his side and was the only think keeping him from bolting. If he’d been on his own, he wouldn’t have even made it past the front door.

“She’s- you said she was,” his words tripped over his tongue and got tangled in knots behind his teeth. Frustration punched out of him with a raised voice and clenched fists. “Dammit Samara, how did this happen?”

Her eyes cut to the small crib that held the still slumbering baby, but when they returned him there was a fire in them he hadn’t seen in the year or more since she’d left. It stirred something in him to realize that he’d missed that look. There had been a distinct lack of passion and light in his romantic life and Samara threatened to drag all those feelings back out from the dark place he’d shoved them into when she’d left. He understood why she’d gone, had respected her all the more for it, but part of him would always feel as if he hadn’t been enough to make her stay. The look she turned on him now dredged all of that back up and it was just one more thing he wasn’t sure he had the strength to deal with.

“Father you may be, but if you wake her I will gut you where you stand. The journey here has not been easy on either of us and she only just went to sleep.”

“If it was so hard then why make the trip at all?”

For the first time he could remember Porthos saw what looked like hesitation in Samara’s eyes. Since they’d first met she had always been sure of herself and her decisions. Seeing her hesitate now did unpleasant things to his insides.

“She needs to know her father. No matter the life we planned on having, this is the one we’ve been given and I will not deny my daughter the privilege of knowing her father simply because I was unsure of your reaction. I will not let fear decide my fate.”

It was so very much like Samara that Porthos found the answer didn’t even surprise him. The relationship she’d had with her own father, and the injustice of having that relationship cut short would have undoubtedly played a part in how she raised her children. Porthos just hadn’t expected to part of that plan. Especially not this soon.

“I wouldn’t ask you to. It’s just… ‘bit surprising is all.” Porthos said quietly.

The tension that had been hung on Samara’s shoulders seemed to simply fall off of her. She sighed in relief and took a half step forward, fingertips stretched into the space between them. Porthos met her half way. His arms went around her back and pulled her into his chest in one large, sweeping motion. One hand cupped the back of her head and directed her face against his shoulder. She shuddered and clutched at his back with trembling hands but her voice was steady as a rock as she spoke.

“I didn’t know if you would even see me. It has been some time since we parted and I wasn’t sure if you still… I should not have worried. You are a man of honor and one of the most devoted men I know. You would not leave us, even if you no longer felt as you once did.”

There was fear and anxiety and a whole other maelstrom of emotions swirling in his gut. What was he going to do? How were they going to fix this? What were the others going to think? They were questions he would find answers to at a later date. For the moment there was a woman in his arms that needed him to be strong and that was what he was going to do.

“You know I’ll always love you, Samara.” He said. “Maybe not like you deserve, but never doubt that I’ll always be here for you. No matter what else is happening, don’t doubt that.”

Samara nodded against his shoulder and drew back, straightening her hair and wiping quickly at the corners of her eyes before seeming to realize that they weren’t alone. She straightened up and tilted her head in Athos’ direction. “I remember you.” She said coolly. “The Musketeer Athos. You helped my father when I was taken by the Spanish. Porthos speaks very highly of you.”

Porthos caught Athos’ raised eyebrow out of the corner of his eye before the other Musketeer removed his hat and bowed his head politely. “You have my condolences for his loss.”

“It has been more than a year now. His loss is not something I linger on.” Her jaw was set and her eyes were hard, but there was a brightness to them that revealed the hurt she still felt at the thought of her father.

“Perhaps not, but the loss of family is a wound that never truly closes, and I was not able to offer my sympathies when we last parted.”

Samara gave Athos a long look before she smiled at him. It was a small thing, but there was genuine understanding and gratitude in the lines of her face. “Thank you.”

A silence drifted over them and Porthos was loathe to break it. Breaking it would mean that their meeting would have to continue and continuing meant talking about the reason Samara had come back to Paris. If she had simply wanted him to know about the child -his daughter- she could have just sent a letter. Porthos could understand her wanting him to get to know the child - _his daughter_ \- but travel was not cheap and there had to be something else going on.

“Perhaps I should give you two a moment to talk.” Thank god for Athos.

Porthos saw the lifeline for what it was and grabbed on with both hands. “Maybe that’d be best. Now that you know it’s not a trap or anything like that, you could go back and tell the others everything’s alright. I’ll ride back a bit later.”

Athos met his pleading look head on and raised an eyebrow. “If you think I’m leaving you to ride back on your own after all of this you are very much mistaken. I was simply suggesting I wait outside and give you two a moment alone to talk without my being privy to the conversation.”

“Athos…”

Samara took his hand between both of hers and tugged slightly on his arm to draw his attention back to her. “Listen to your friend. What I have to say will not take long and I would feel better if you were not alone.”

“You know gangin’ up on me’s not exactly fair.” He grumbled.

Samara smiled and stroked her thumbs over the back of his hand.

“Go on Athos. I’ll come fetch you when I’m done here.”

With a nod Athos replaced his hat on his head and tipped the brim to Samara before taking his leave.

Porthos turned back to Samara and took a deep breath, trying not to show the panic that was threatening to well up and choke him now that they were alone. “So, what did you need to tell me?”

-

Athos looked up from where he’d been propping up the wall of the building across the street as Porthos exited the inn. “Everything in order?”

“You sure there’s nothing else you want to ask me first?”

Athos shrugged and fell into step beside him as the moved toward their horses. “Clearly all of this was as much of a surprise to you as at it was to me. I wanted to give you enough time to work it out for yourself before I demanded you explain it to me.”

Thank god for Athos. Again. If the man and his level headedness hadn’t been around Porthos has no idea what he would have done. He definitely would not have stayed to hear Samara out. Oh he might have circled around to it eventually, but it would have taken far more time and convincing if Athos hadn’t been there to ground him.

“Good, ‘cause I only want to have to explain this once.” Porthos mounted up and sat very still in the saddle, waiting for Athos to do the same, reins clenched tight in his fists. “I have a daughter.”

Athos remained silent.

“I have a daughter. Her name is Ayodele and she’ll be a year old in about four months. Apparently she looks just like me but I don’t see it. No idea how something that small is supposed to look like anything really.” He knew he was starting to ramble but the words just kept coming. “She’s got my coloring, I’ll give her that, and she’s got the same kinda hair as I do but that doesn’t really add up to a strong resemblance. Didn’t even get to see her open her eyes. The little thing stayed asleep the whole time I was there.” He laughed, a bit desperately and the reins shook in his hands. “At least she sleeps like me. Not sure what I would have done if she’s actually been awake. Then I would’ve had to actually talk to her or something and I’ve never talked to a baby before. What would I even-”

“Porthos I need you to breathe.”

Athos’ voice broke through the haze that had started to fall over his mind and it was like breaking the surface. The sun was suddenly too bright and the ambient sounds of Paris around them were too loud. “Athos I have a daughter.”

“I heard.” A hand settled on his shoulder and Porthos looked over to find Athos smiling at him. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

The situation was just too much. Too bizarre. A laugh bubbled out of him and before he knew it Porthos was laughing harder than he could ever remember having laughed, bent over his horse’s neck and trying to catch his breath. Passersby were giving him odd looks and moving to pass on the opposite side of the street. Athos’ hand remained on his shoulder for the duration of his little fit and Porthos had never been so grateful for anything in his life. He wiped at his eyes and gave Athos a crooked smile. “If she didn’t already have a name I might have had to name her after you just for that.”

“It’s not exactly an appropriate name for a young lady, but I would have had no authority to stop you.”

“You are a menace to society.”

“Indeed. Out of curiosity,” Athos withdrew his hand and turned his mount in the direction of the garrison. “What does her given name mean? Did Samara tell you? It’s not French.”

Porthos took a moment to straighten himself out before following. There were still questions he wanted answers to. Samara had left holes in her story that Porthos hadn’t had the heart to prod at yet, but there would be time for that later. For now he simply had to worry about keeping himself calm and collected until the following day and think of how he was going to tell the others about this newest addition.

“Porthos?”

“It means joy has come home.”


	3. Chapter 3

They had all gathered in Treville’s office. It was one of the few places they could all fit into comfortably that still gave them the privacy they needed for a conversation such as the one Porthos was planning. Treville himself was present as well, on the opposite side of his desk from where he normally sat, leaving Porthos to pace behind the chair while Athos closed the door after d’Artagnan and Aramis as they came in.

Aramis’ eyes swept over him from head to toe as he entered. “Is everything alright? Athos said things didn’t get violent, only that this was very important, that you needed to see all of us as soon as possible.” There were so many questions in those dark eyes that Porthos had to look away. He had enough worry in his own head without trying to deal with someone else’s on top of it.

“I’m fine. We’re both fine.” Porthos gave Athos a quick look, but he was getting no help from the other man. Not this time. This was his story and his alone to tell. “Samara’s returned to Paris and she had a few things she needed to tell me. Things that she felt couldn’t just be said through a letter.”

“Anything we need to be concerned about?” Treville asked. The Captain was clearly already concerned, but it appeared he was going to defer to Porthos’ judgment for the moment.

Porthos shook his head. He moved behind Treville’s chair and gripped the back until his knuckles turned white. “Not yet. Nothing that could be truly harmful, but might make a few problems down the road.”

d’Artagnan’s brow knit together in confusion and he adjusted his stance. Frustration made the boy fidgety and he didn’t like being out of the loop. “Porthos what are you talking about? What kind of trouble did she bring with her?”

“She brought a child.”

Porthos saw Athos wince at the inelegant phrasing but d’Artagnan seemed to look even more confused. Treville’s eyes widened and Porthos knew he’d figured it out. There was no judgment there but he could tell that the older Musketeer was already making plans in his head, always two steps ahead of everyone else. Aramis blinked once very slowly, but other than that his face remained perfectly blank. If he hadn’t worked it out yet, he was about to.

d’Artagnan made a frustrated sound and Porthos forced himself to meet his eyes when he asked, “What does that have to do with you? Why would she-?”

“The child is mine.”

Aramis actually rocked back as if he’d been struck. The step back he took rang out like a musket shot in the suddenly quiet room and Porthos tried to meet the man’s eyes. They were dancing all around the room, jumping from point to point over Porthos’ body but never settling anywhere for more than a second before flitting off somewhere else.

“A baby girl.” Porthos said softly. “She’ll be a year old soon. Samara said she didn’t want her growing up without knowing her father.”

d’Artagnan opened and closed his mouth a few times before he could actually form words. “Your daughter? And Samara, she’s...” He wiped a hand across his mouth and seemed to take a moment to compose himself.

Aramis took another step backwards.

“How long will they be staying in Paris?” Treville asked.

Porthos shrugged, the chair creaking under his fingers. Aramis still wouldn’t look at him. “Don’t know yet. I’m going back tomorrow. I’m sure we’ll get it all figured out then.”

“What’s her name?” d’Artagnan finally seemed to have found his voice.

Porthos met Athos eyes over Treville’s shoulder, but the look he received said it was his decision. He chanced one more glance at Aramis. “Ayodele.”

The reaction he got wasn’t as bad as he was expecting. Somehow it was worse.

Aramis seemed to freeze in place and Porthos breath froze right along with him. d’Artagnan was saying something but all Porthos could hear was the rushing of blood in his ears.

A shudder went through Aramis’ frame and he took a deep breath as if to ready himself for something. “Well Porthos, congratulations. I’m sure everything will work out wonderfully for you.” He blinked a few times in quick succession and shook his head like a horse dislodging flies. “Now I have another matter to attend to. We’ll have to continue this another time. Again congratulations.”

Athos was physically shouldered out of the way before he could even think to block the door and Aramis disappeared through it moments later.

Porthos didn’t even try to stop him.

-

**A few hours earlier**

Aramis’ pacing was starting to make d’Artagnan dizzy. The other man had made a small divot in the dirt in front of the Musketeer’s usual table in the garrison courtyard. He knew this business with Porthos was disturbing their usual peace, but Aramis was acting like a caged animal. There was a kind of wildness to his eyes that d’Artagnan wasn’t sure he’d seen before. Not like this.

“Maybe you should sit down. My head is hurting just watching you, so you must be dizzy by now.”

The quick scuff of Aramis’ boots finally stopped and dark eyes flicked up to catch d’Artagnan’s in a look that was part frustration, part something else that looked shockingly like fear. “Does he really expect us to just sit here and wait for him to come back? Anything could be going on and he only has Athos to watch his back.”

d’Artagnan’s metaphorical hackles rose up. The slight against Athos -however unintended it may have been- sparked something inside him that nudged at his own fraying nerves. “That’s hardly fair. Athos is more than enough to keep Porthos safe. I know you’d rather it was you by his side, but he chose to take Athos with him and you need to respect that.” He saw the look in Aramis’ eyes and could tell that the man was about to say more so he added,  “for now.” Hoping that would stop any further argument.

A muscle in jumped in Aramis’ jaw as he closed his mouth, but he remained silent for a moment before spinning on his heel.

d’Artagnan sighed, thinking his fellow Musketeer was going to resume his former pacing but Aramis simply stood there, shoulders tight and back turned.

“Why would he not want me there?”

“Pardon?” The words had been spoken so softly that d’Artagnan wasn’t sure he’d been meant to hear them at all.

“I understand that Athos is a good man, and a great asset to have when dealing with just about anything that he could be facing but…” The words cut off and d’Artagnan fidgeted where he sat, picking at the leather cords at his chest and forcing himself not to press Aramis to continue. His patience paid off when Aramis finally started speaking again, but it seemed like the words were being dragged out of him. “But why would he leave me behind?”

And there in lie the crux of the matter. d’Artagnan knew all the Musketeers had a special bond. In their group that bond ran even deeper, but even he knew that the ties between Porthos and Aramis were a bit different than the ones between them and anyone else. Maybe not so much _different_ as just _more._

This was usually the time Athos said something suitably vague that turned the attention away from whatever had been said, or when Porthos would do something grandiose to divert attention to himself and away from whoever had spoken. More often than not these days that someone was Aramis and d’Artagnan didn’t want to exam the reasons for that just yet. He was content with his own inner demons for now. But it seemed his luck had finally run out because neither Porthos nor Athos were there to grab the attention and Aramis’ bald question hung in the air to be twisted and examined from every angle by the both of them.

It was probably just as well that Treville chose that moment insinuate himself into their little world by shouting over the railing for the both of them. If he had been given any more time to think about his reply he almost definitely would have wound up saying something to upset his friend further. “We should go see what he wants.” He set his hands on his knees and pushed himself to stand, dusting himself off of any imagined dust. “Maybe let him know that Porthos and Athos have gone to deal with a personal matter.”

From his position at Aramis’ back, d’Artagnan could see the look on the other man’s face but he could see the way his shoulders moved as he drew in a deep breath and wiped at his face with one hand. Whatever was going through his mind, it was wreaking havoc on the Musketeers control. It had been slipping more and more of late, and this last slight -even if it was only imagined- brought him closer and closer to a tipping point d’Artagnan did not want to bear witness to.

When Aramis finally turned enough to face him his eyes would not meet d’Artagnan’s and instead focused somewhere over his right shoulder. “You go on ahead. The Captain won’t need me there right away, and I have an errand that needs doing. Might as well get it done while there’s nothing else more pressing to tend to.”

d’Artagnan’s mouth dropped open to argue, but the pleading look in those dark eyes stopped him. He knew that look and it was a desperate, cornered thing that he never wanted to see on his friend’s face again. He nodded and the relief in Aramis’ eyes made something burn behind his own. “Just don’t be too long.” He gripped Aramis’ shoulder and squeezed, hoping the touch could convey what his words could not. “The others shouldn’t take too long, and you know how they worry.”

Aramis’ smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Should have thought of that before they ran off without us then, shouldn’t they?”

-

d’Artagnan felt Aramis brush past him and he turned his head to watch the other man flee. That was the only word for it. The Musketeer was fleeing. Almost tripping over his own feet in his scramble to get out of the room. And the look in his eyes, the bit d’Artagnan was able to catch a glimpse of was the exactly the look he’d never wanted to see.

This was Aramis in freefall. This new information from Porthos had sent him tipping over the edge and as no one went after him, it looked like there was going to be no safety net this time.

The door slammed shut behind Aramis’ retreating form and d’Artagnan turned back around in time to see Porthos recoil at the sound. The big man’s words from before reverberated through his head. T _his isn’t right._ Something had changed between them and d’Artagnan was still trying to figure out what it was.

“Go after him.”

Athos’ voice broke the tension in the air and everyone turned to look at him.

For a moment no one spoke before Porthos started to say something. “Athos, he needs-” The words died in his throat with a sound like a wounded cat as Athos marched across the room in two quick strides to grab the larger man by the front of his leather collar.

“What he needs is to have his head knocked against a wall, but I believe he will have to settle with having you explain to him what is going on. He deserves that much from you.”

There was something in those words, some kind of undercurrent that d’Artagnan knew he was missing, but he knew that asking at this moment would not be wise. The fact that Treville seemed to know what they were talking about as well struck a nerve, but he was more mature than he’d been at the beginning. He was not going to pout about being left out of the loop. Eventually everyone would be on the same page. He would just have to wait for that moment.

“Athos, I can’t just… What am I supposed to say?”

“Start with an apology. Work your way up from there.” Athos released his hold on Porthos and d’Artagnan released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “The two of you have always been very good at reading what the other isn’t saying. It’s just our luck that this time you’re both blinder than bats.”

Porthos chuckled and pushed at Athos’ shoulder, shoving him aside and d’Artagnan was relieved to see that the amusement on his face was genuine. “She still needs a middle name you know.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” The corner of Athos’s mouth turned up in what could barely be called a smile. “Now get out of here and clean up your mess.”

“Not your job to give me orders.” Porthos said, moving past d’Artagnan and putting his hand on the door. He paused there and for a moment d’Artagnan feared there was more to it. Something else that he was going to spring on them. A wife somewhere? Some incurable disease? What else could he possibly be keeping from them?

“Thank you.” And with that he slipped out. His steps loud on the wooden planks outside.

Treville cleared his throat in the following silence. “Anything you’d like to add, Athos?”

d’Artagnan turned back and looked Athos over, following the tight lines of the man’s form with his eyes. There was a tension there that worried him, but the look on Athos’ face was one of calm. d’Artagnan could feel himself being swept up in that calm and his own rabbiting pulse finally slowed to something more regular.

“Not at this moment, Captain. I will keep you apprised of the situation as I’m able.”

It was Athos’ way of saying he was going to keep an eye on things. He may not tell Treville everything, but he was going to make sure his fellow Musketeers were in fighting shape. Mentally and physically.

d’Artagnan would expect no less of him, and neither would anyone else.

Treville nodded, a smile twitching at his lips and rising in his eyes. “See that you do.”

Athos nodded back and took d’Artagnan’s arm, tugging him along as they took their leave.

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	4. Chapter 4

Panic started to claw at Porthos’ gut the longer his search went on with still no sign of Aramis. The guard at the gate of the garrison had pointed him in the right direction, but now he was lost and the maze of Paris he had once been so good at navigating became almost unmanageable to him. All of Aramis’ usual haunts were on the opposite side of the city and he was going to lose his nerve if the search took any longer. Each passing minute with neither hide nor hair of his quarry seemed to him like a sign from god that the other man didn’t want to be found. Or shouldn’t be found.

There was also the matter of Porthos having no idea what he was going to say when he finally caught up with him. Their relationship had been strained as of late, and Porthos was still struggling with what to do about it. He knew part of the strain came from Aramis trying so hard to keep so many secrets. How could Porthos tell him that it was unnecessary?

Aramis had never been able to lie to him. Porthos spent so much of his time watching Aramis that he had learned the other man’s tells. The way his eyes cut to the side the slightest bit when he wasn’t being entirely truthful. The way his fingers reached for the cross at his neck when he was upset, only to jerk his hand away like he’d been burned when he realized he was doing it. The way his mustache moved when he was trying to hide a smile. The way his eyes lit up when he looked at the Queen. The same they brightened when he looked at the Dauphin. It hadn’t been hard to figure out.

 Everyone forgot that Porthos grew up reading people. His survival had depended on it. Would this woman take pity on a hungry child, or would she lash out at the mere thought of carousing with the poor? Would that man be gullible enough to fall for Flea’s tricks while Porthos and Charon robbed him blind? Would that shopkeeper be forgiving if they were caught making off with yesterday’s bread? People were easy. Much easier to read than the books Aramis had finally taught him to make sense of. That had been the beginning of it. The start of his lessons in Aramis as well as in words. Those lessons had been one of the most looked forward to moments in his day, and now those moments were failing him because Aramis was not where he was supposed to be. Porthos had known things were not going to go well with his newest revelation, but he would never forgive himself if Aramis did something stupid in his altered mind state.

It was because of his own distracted mind that he was almost run down by a passing carriage. The driver’s shouted warning barely gave him enough time to jerk himself back to reality and out of the way. It was of course in that moment, as his eyes darted around with the panic of nearly having gotten himself killed that he saw him. Aramis was disappearing into the doorway of a mausoleum. The building sat in the middle of a sizeable graveyard and Porthos felt a sick chill run down his spine. He quickened his step, making sure to watch where he walked this time as he hurried after his friend.

Luckily it seemed like no one else was around as Porthos made his way inside, crossing himself when he passed through the open doorway. The multitude of candles spread around the halls gave off enough light to see by and Porthos could still hear the scraping of Aramis’ boots somewhere ahead of him.

“Aramis?” He called out. Sneaking up on the man was at the bottom of his list of ways to start this conversation. He was taking a chance on Aramis hearing his voice and simply running off again, but Porthos felt as if he at least owed Aramis the courtesy of giving him that choice.

“I’m here.” The reply was a thin release of breath and sound that barely reached him, but it was the invitation Porthos had been waiting for.

“You’re a hard man to find when you want to be.” Porthos said. He swallowed thickly and pressed his lips together to forestall any more words coming out of his mouth. That had not been the way he’d wanted to start this. His footsteps rang out over the stone walls as he turned a corner at the end of the hall. Aramis was just inside the barred gate of one of the crypts. “You alright?”

Aramis chuckled, but it held none of the mirth Porthos had come to associate with the sound. “I am as alright as I can be, my friend.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is. Just not the one you were looking for.” Aramis turned to look at him over his shoulder.

Something in those eyes made Porthos’ gut twist up in knots. He wanted to rush forward, take Aramis in his arms and wipe that look off his face. He wanted him to smile again. It had been so long since he’d smiled like he used to. Aramis had not been the same, not since the Dauphin. Porthos couldn’t exactly blame him, especially when he’d discovered the truth. That truth still made his stomach ache with uneasiness. Made him choke down bile and biting words that screamed of something he dare not call jealousy. But this? This was something else entirely.

“Aramis I’m-“

“Don’t Porthos. Just please don’t.” Aramis pleaded. His voice trembled and Porthos hooked his thumbs in his sword belt, fingers creaking in his gloves as he clenched them into fists to stop them reaching out. “Do you remember Adele?”

Porthos blinked. “Of course I do. I thought that’s why you’d gone off. My-” he stumbled over the word. Still so foreign on his tongue. “My daughter’s name was so close that I figured it’d upset you. I remember you were pretty broken up when she left.”

Aramis looked away. Not that he had actually been looking at Porthos to begin with, but the telling cut of his eyes clued Porthos in to the fact that the other man was hiding something.

It was then that their surroundings finally seemed to come into focus. Porthos clenched his jaw and looked around the small room that Aramis was standing in. The markers on the wall behind him drew his attention and the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

_Adele Bessette_

Without another word Porthos forced his way into Aramis’ personal space and wrapped him up in his arms. “Dammit, Aramis. Why didn’t you say anything?” Fingers clenched tightly against his back and Porthos held on tighter. One hand moving up to cradle the back of Aramis’ head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I loved her.” The admission sounded like it had been punched out of him and Porthos grieved for the part of Aramis that was still broken over that loss. “I loved her and the Cardinal knew. He knew about everything and if he knew everything I couldn’t risk anyone else. Not when there’s still so much at stake.”

_The Queen._ The words weren’t said out loud, but Porthos heard them anyway. Aramis had a family of his own to worry about. A family he could never have, but a family nonetheless. Something inside him gnashed its teeth at the thought of Aramis going off to create his own family, his own life, somewhere else. Somewhere away from him. The shame of such thoughts threatened to drown him at times and he was glad that they never showed on his face.

“I never meant to drag all this up again.” Porthos said. His mouth was turned against Aramis’ hair, whispering his apology against the shell of his ear. “I should’ve thought- I’m sorry.”

“I said don’t. This isn’t your fault.” Aramis’ voice was small, muffled against Porthos’ chest as if he hoped the words wouldn’t reach him. “My burdens should not be yours, and I’d hate to heap them on your daughter while I’m at it. She deserves them least of all.” There was no stutter, no hint of hesitation over the word that made Porthos almost jealous of the ease with which Aramis had uttered it.

“I know this must be hard for you though. I’m only apologizing for the shit this is stirring up, not for the news itself.” Porthos almost mentions the Dauphin. It’s on the tip of his tongue to let Aramis know that that’s one fewer secret he needs to keep, but something stops him. He bites the confession off before it can form and swallows it down, settles for running a hand over Aramis’ back. “You gonna be alright?”

Aramis draws in a wet breath. “Curse you and your understanding countenance. You are too good to me.” There are hands against Porthos’ chest and Aramis pushes them apart. His eyes are dry, but there is a redness to them that says it was a near thing. “I will be fine. There is no way I’m going to deprive a lady of my charm simply because I’m a broken man.”

Porthos is aware the words are meant in jest, but the self-deprecating tone and downward turn of Aramis’ mouth make him uneasy. “Don’t do that.”

Aramis raises an eyebrow in question.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re not broken. A little scuffed up maybe, but never broken. You moved on, eh? Found love again, even with that ghost hanging over your head.” He’s saying too much. He can tell by the widening of Aramis’ eyes, but he needs the other man to understand that there is nothing he can do to depreciate himself in Porthos’ eyes. “You are many, many things Aramis but never broken. Not after everything you’ve lived through.”

There is a sheen to Aramis’ eyes that looks suspiciously like tears before he ducks his head and Porthos can no longer see his face. Aramis presses a fist to his own chest and clears his throat. “Thank you, my friend. You don’t know how much it means to hear you say that.”

Porthos sniffs, moving to wind an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders. Aramis melts into the touch and Porthos counts that as a victory. “I think I might have an idea.” If Aramis didn’t know that Porthos has become privy to some of his secrets, he’s definitely suspecting it now, and yet Porthos is still feeling like he came away from the encounter the victor. He and Aramis are back on the same page. Mostly. Porthos has pages that Aramis will never be made aware of, but this enough. He has to tell himself it is enough or he will drive himself mad with the wanting.

“So,” Aramis drags the word out, lifting his own arm to have it settle along the back of Porthos’ neck as he leads them away from the dark gloom of the crypt. “When will I get to meet the little bundle of joy?”

If only he knew just how accurate his words were.

Porthos could only laugh in response. “Sooner than I’d like, I’m sure.”

Aramis’ answering laugh was the realest thing Porthos had heard in weeks.


End file.
